Just Like The Stories
by Laura Schiller
Summary: After the wolf attack, genre-savvy Belle makes a few deductions.


Just Like The Stories

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Beauty and the beast

Copyright: Walt Disney Pictures

Belle closed the door to the Beast's room, leaving him to recover from his injuries in peace. Carrying Lumiere, she proceeded quietly down the hallway.

"I figured it out, you know," she said. "Mostly."

"Figured what out, mademoiselle?" asked Lumiere, a rather too innocent smile on his waxen face.

"Now, Lumiere." She smiled wryly. "I've been reading fairy tales my entire life. Did you really think you could keep me in the dark about this one?"

Not that living her own fairy tale was anything like she had expected. Cleaning and bandaging wolf bites on an irritable Beast, she thought, was hardly a glamorous task. Not that she wasn't grateful to him for saving her life, but that particular memory – the snow; the sharp-toothed wolves advancing on her; her terrified horse – was one she really didn't want to dwell on.

"He's under a spell, isn't he?" she continued. "Or should I say a curse? I mean, nobody's born looking like he does, and when I saw that painting in the West Wing … "

Her throat constricted. That painting, with the Beast's striking blue eyes looking out from a human face. The canvas slashed by a set of sharp claws. The Beast, furiously – protectively? – replacing the glass dome over that dying rose as he roared at her to get out.

Lumiere squirmed, the wax on all three of his candles dripping down rather faster than usual. If candlesticks could blush, he was definitely doing it.

"That, mademoiselle, is why the West Wing is forbidden. The master does not wish for anyone to see … "

_To see his vulnerable side_, she finished mentally. Every torn drape, every broken mirror, every cobweb in those rooms spoke of his suffering. No wonder he had shouted at her for intruding … though that still didn't make it right.

"The rose," she thought out loud. "He had a rose under glass. It was shining, floating in the air above the table … and when I touched it, that's when he lost his temper. What _is_ it about that rose, Lumiere? Is that what's keeping him as a beast? But then why would he be protecting it?"

She had always enjoyed mystery novels as a child, but this particular mystery haunted her. Lumiere's stubborn silence was enough to make her feel like roaring herself.

"I need to _know,_" she said fiercely, holding the candlestick up to meet him at eye level. "What if I can help him – all of you? Why do you think I had to see those horrible rooms? _Nobody_ deserves to live as objects!"

She shuddered, remembering Gaston's smelly feet on her table as he called her his "little wife".

Lumiere held up his thin brass arms in a helpless shrug.

"Please forgive me," he said, "If I could tell you, I would. The rules of the curse say you must find the solution for yourself, or it will never work."

She met his eyes, somehow sad and apologetic even in candlestick form, and felt the rage pounding in her ears once more: this time, directed at whoever had done this to all the castle's inhabitants. The Beast, Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts – even Chip, for God's sake, who was just a little boy.

"Who would do this?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Who would be heartless enough … ?"

"We do not know her name or where she came from," said Lumiere, with another shrug. "She appeared by the door one cold winter's night, as an old woman, offering the rose in return for shelter. That was ten years ago, the Master's parents had both passed away, and he was … not an easy man to serve."

Judging by the pause, Belle had the feeling that this was an understatement.

"Let me guess, he showed her the door?" It was just what the Beast she knew would have done, and exactly the sort of thing that was punished with curses in fairy tales.

"That he did." Lumiere sighed. "She threw off her disguise, made a speech loud enough for the whole castle to hear, and set off a light so bright it knocked us all unsonscious. The result, mademoiselle, is what you see before you. Do not worry, my dear. Being a candlestick is not so bad when one gets used to it, you see?"

With a stage magician's flourish, he extinguished and relit the candles that were his hands. Belle smiled and nodded, letting no hint of pity show on her face. _If I ever get near that witch, I'll give her a piece of my mind she won't forget._

"So what you're saying," she concluded, "Is that if I'm going to break the curse, I'll have to do it with no help from anyone? Not even a hint?"

"Afraid so."

Her mind was already racing, listing all the fairy tales with transformations she could think of. There was _A Midsummer Night's Dream _– but where would she get the magic flower? _Pinocchio_ – where was a fairy when you needed one? _The Little Mermaid, The Swan Princess, The Frog Prince _…

She stopped in her tracks and raised her eyebrows at Lumiere.

"Please don't tell me I have to kiss him."

Lumiere blushed again and waved his candles in negation. "No, no, nothing like that!"

Belle sighed with relief. It was not so much the Beast's appearance (although a set of fangs the size of her thumb was not exactly appealing) as his mean, coarse, downright selfish behavior. He was Gaston with fur. Definitely not her type.

_But Gaston wanted to marry me,_ a voice whispered in the back of her mind. _He had to have all of me: body, mind and heart. All the Beast asked for was my company. He saved me from the wolves, he could have been killed … and this after I trespassed into his private rooms, broke my promise and left him. _

How strange. Two hours ago – was it really only two hours? – she had run from her monstrous captor in a storm of rage and fear. _Promise or no promise, I can't stay here another minute! _Now here she was, back in the castle of her own free will, and there he was, covered in bandages and resting peacefully in an armchair. There they were, on better terms than she would ever have believed possible.

"If I may ask," said Lumiere, as if echoing her thoughts, "Not that we are not all extremely glad to see you … but why did you come back?"

To Belle, the answer appeared obvious.

"I couldn't leave him _alone_," she said, insulted by the implication. "Not in the woods at this time of year. Besides … now that it's over, I do feel a bit ashamed of running away. All he really did was raise his voice."

"I do not blame you," said Lumiere, with a sympathetic grimace. "His Highness can make the walls shake when he tries. He would never truly hurt anyone, though," fixing her with wide, serious eyes. "You realize that, don't you, mademoiselle?"

She remembered her father's cough and his icy hands after two days in the dungeon; the Beast bundling him into a walking iron cage; pounding on her door with his massive fist. _Fine, then go ahead and starve!_ Perhaps it had been childish of her to refuse to eat with him, but could anyone really blame her for keeping as much distance as possible between herself and her Papa's former jailer? On the other hand, he could have done much worse to her – which he hadn't.

Considering he'd spent ten years in the form of a Beast, surrounded by living household objects, it was surprising how much humanity he had left.

"That depends on what you mean by hurting," she said. "But … I suppose you're right."

She would try to be less sensitive, just as the Beast seemed to be trying to be more considerate of others. She thought of him fidgeting as she bandaged his wounds, grumbling just like Papa did when she'd patched him up after one of his many work-related accidents. It was curiously endearing. The way they had argued back and forth, like equals; no bullying on his part, no fear on hers. The low, soft tone of his voice as he said, _You're welcome._

She could still go back home. Something told her that the Beast probably wouldn't try to stop her. Aside from the dishonor of breaking her word to him, though, or even the mystery of the curse, she realized she _wanted_ to stay. She'd grown to like them all: Lumiere's flamboyance, Cogsworth's dry wit, the Wardrobe's fashion sense, Mrs. Potts' down-to-earth kindness, Chip's mischief. After tonight's adventure, if things carried on the way they'd begun, even the Beast might become a friend.

She reached the door to her room, bent down and placed Lumiere on the floor.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said. "Could you please tell the Beast I'll be joining him for breakfast?"

She said it casually, but they both knew a barrier had been crossed. The day she sat down to eat with him would be the day everything changed.

"Will do, mademoiselle." Lumiere swept off his candle-snuffer hat and bowed low. "Good night and sweet dreams."


End file.
